Straining Gods
by KendrixTermina
Summary: And so, the Titans end just like they began, huddled together in the dark.


Straining Gods

Their fate was probably unavoidably sealed when the Six looked at each other one last time, arms held out, fingers overlapping in their midst, faces showing no sighs of hesitation.

Meeting over an improvised altar of flame, their hands were each of very different form and consistence, and yet, within their six distinct bodies, there burned the same will, flowed the same blood, and glowed with the same, refined energies that were unlike anything this world had ever seen before, like a flaring beacon of something vast and new.

Then, their hands parted, and the older ones each departed in one of the cardinal directions, while the youngest, still little more than a soft-faced adolescent, shot up into the raging skies, up from the earth that had been dissolved into mud and sludge by the never-ending onslaught of the torrents that had not let up for a long, long time, for there was war up in the heavens, and today, they had sworn by the river Styx to finally write its last chapter –

Only the eldest sister remained behind, tending to the fire that, beneath her petite, yet knowing hands sustained its warmth and radiance even in this tempest, holding her own little ritual to ensure her sibling's safe return in the way most suited to her nature.

There was little special about the particular spot they had chosen, other than perhaps slight sheltering by the surrounding rocks, just another barren patch of dirt in the foothills of mount Othrys, but now, it had become the spot they had sworn to return to

– and indeed, by the time the small pyre had become a pit of still slightly smoldering charcoal, before the last sparks of radiance had a chance to fully fade, the circle closed itself again, this time with a much larger flock of powerful beings assembled around it, layers upon layers of expectant eyes, none of whom were necessarily grouped in pairs of two.

And in their midst was a forward, auburn-haired male in gaudy ornaments, who wasted no time in announcing his presence as he triumphantly marched through a corridor formed by those who did not dare get too close to him and his menacing smirk.

His dandy stroll forward made it clear that he did not much care about placating the many wary glances directed as his lean, ornate form, but although he was not bound at any of his strong limbs, his skin shared the same earthen, jewel-like sheen as the darker, more rugged prisoner he pushed onwards before him, his pleased grin audacious, but the nonchalant jolt with which he threw his bounty before the feet of his companions made it clear that he had clear priorities as to whom he currently wanted to taunt the most.

"Here he is! Just as promised. The ever so glorious general Atlas!"

His prey had no such options left to him, and thus settled for the only degrees of movement that his binding did not restrain, the turn of his neck and the flippant flapping of his tongue and mouth: "You _do_ know that Lord Kronos is going to have your head for this, right? Not even father could convince him to forgive you anymore..."

"And that concerns me _how_, dear brother? Since all three of you will soon be enjoying yourselves in Tartarus."

"You seem very sure..." the defeated warrior spat through the dust in his beard, "...that our upstart cousins won't be rewarding you _exactly_ as a traitor deserves. You should probably watch your backs, Metis and you..."

The words seemed to have been chosen deliberate to incite the crowd, laced with pride even as their source lay bound and defeated, not quite in the pit, not quite willing to let go of the remainders of superiority in his posture, his upper body pushed up as much as it could be without the aid of his arms and feet, wiggling in his bounds like a worm only to turn onto his side, and smirking in triumph as he saw drenched outlines slither and move as voices hissed and growled in one last chaotic cacophony of 'He is not like you!', and 'He has kept his promise to release us!', but recent memory alone should be enough to strike at the doubts in their hearts.

Filthy with dust, the fallen general still took comfort in his own disparity to the flesh-mounds gathered around. Something with hundred arms did not deserve to see the light of the day... and being able to provoke at least some motion in his surroundings still separated him from the dreadful shame of complete helplessness, even as he lay there, not quite in the pit, not quite out of the range where the companions of the Six could attempt further humiliation – if he knew it was him who had made them move with his own will, even kicks and stomps would not taste of defeat, and as long as he could still rip something way more precious than their lives out of their minds and bodies, his battle was not lost.

But his turncoat brother's fearless mind reacted with significantly less turmoil than you could have expected from someone whose healthy sense of self-preservation outweighed his sheer audacity, so instead of bitter retaliation or the gale of indignation that had briefly whirled around them, his words were met only with challenging nonchalance:

"Perhaps. But that concern will be mine and mine alone. You will have other things to worry about..."

Success, at least, could be secured from the less shrewd, or less mad portions of the crowd that only begged for a wedge between them and their openly irreverent ally: "Shut your hole!"

"Sorry. Should've gagged him."

"We mean _you_, Prometheus!"

"What do you mean 'perhaps'?! Are you calling us liars?!"

But before the commotion could break out into an open conflict, it was parted by the implorations of a firm, yet well-meaning voice that despite its soft, high quality and moderate tone held an immense presence and elicited the immediate obedient respect of the crowds around her, unorthodox batches of eyes that immediately left the quarreling brothers be, much to a surprisingly mutual disappointment, and moved over to the prudent maiden that had been their source: "Bia. Zelus. Kratos. Please calm yourselves." she spoke, her body almost completely concealed in flowing, long robes of pure white, although her long, elegant veil still allowed the occasional peek at her tresses of warm ruby. "You too, Cousin." she directed at Prometheus in particular, the word chosen in particular to accentuate their connections, not their differences.

His body, still half postured for the motion he had been stopped in, granted her the sight of a surrendering relaxation, although there could still be no pretence that anyone present much cared for any blood ties they might have with representatives of the opposing faction; Too much bad blood had been spread already over the course of this war, dyeing the rivers and caking the shores.

Desist he did, but relent he never would. "Ah, lady Hestia! The token responsible sibling!" he retorted, with not much effort or honesty in his mockery of reverence. "I'm frankly quite a little bit surprised to see you walk here of your own strength..." and that, he said in full knowledge that the eldest Olympian was very beloved with even the most reluctant member in the alliance. "I kept my end of the bargain. I do hope that you have not failed to keep yours! Frankly, you do not look like you just came out of a fight."

"The Ladies Phoebe and Theia... were prudent enough to chose not to fight, of their own volition."

"For real?" Atlas clamored from the ground, as if to make sure he was not forgotten. "Please, _tell me_ you're kidding me! Now that you have _them_, Lord Kronos and the others will show no restraint! Do you hear me, Prometheus? Never mind Lord Kronos, father himself will personally destroy you for siding with these upstarts...!"

"That... is highly unlikely."

"Hah?!" with precious little dignity, the chained malcontent sharply turned his head toward the young man that stood far too orderly lined up into the circling crowd's layers to have been a new arrival, a lean, sinewy figure whose presence was still slight as a shadow as long as he had willed it to be so, and made Atlas' face contort in disbelief not just from his sheer ability to have escaped his sight thus far, but from the impact of his imposing presence that could _not_ possibly have gone unnoticed from a mere oversight.

The stone-faced, deep-voiced Olympian was a tall, pale-faced figure wrapped in robes of black and earthy dark-brown that were torn and ragged at their seams, but ostensibly by manner of choice as no scratch had come on his sour face and silver ornaments, his recently removed helmet carried under his right arm, his engraved vambraces and elaborate necklaces that were dotted with contrasting dark beads of obsidian, onyx and hematite or the ring of black diamond that kept the lone, sideways braid in place that reached much longer than the rest of ink-black curls. He was all too easily recognizable as Kronos' eldest son – were it not for his significantly more stoic demeanor, Atlas could have sworn he was faced with a younger version of his dark sovereign, but all the attention that had been captured by the dark king's unseen son was soon drawn to the limp form draped over his shoulder, when he gripped its torn robes and, with his left arm alone, threw it onto the last dying embers in the pit before his feet, where it soon lay prone for them all to see.

While triumphant Prometheus managed to avoid the slightest flinch, Atlas could not help his face from growing ashen when he recognized the defeated man below as their very own father, the once dreaded Titan of the East, Iapetus the Piercer, his dark green and black robes bloodied with systematic efficiency, his ponytail of dark hair half-undone.

And as if to compound his despair, another figure detached from the crowd on the opposite side of the pit, his blue robes somewhat battered, his weight half-leaning onto his Trident, his bare chest evidencing visible battle scars, in part, slight burns, but his face very much covered with a tired, yet pleased grin, and he, too, pushed a fallen Titan down into the ashes, in his case, the once mighty Hyperion of the East, his form still radiant and bright as he lay defeated, not quite as splayed, significantly more conscious, his once bright, pale long hair and white robes still retaining a certain tragic elegance even when covered in the dust of defeat, his starry crown lopsided and tangled with the hair that obscured his sight.

He sat up with a bitter smile, but could not convince his worn-out limbs to do much in terms of further obeying, not even to gather up his brother's fallen form, although the direction of his tilted head suggested that he might have been interested in doing so, but what probably managed to daunt Atlas the most was how even the once mighty watcher from above seemed to have given up all hope or concern for his own escape, and had instead slipped into another stage where he was able to find comfort in the knowledge of his wife's surrender and the certainty that his children would not become involved in this bloody strife, and thus probably get fair treatment under their new masters, whose future reign he no longer bothered to doubt.

Atlas, for his part, still wanted to fight, or prove he _could_ fight, yet found himself increasingly grappling with the question of who there was left to fight _for_, especially as the next Olympian sister stepped forward and proved that, no, this was not a fluke, the unruly sons of Gaia and Ouranos could indeed be defeated: The next one, Crius of the South, had fallen to the inconspicuous middle sister in the simple, chlorophyll-green dress, who brought him before her siblings in thick bindings of vines, and even in his sorry state, he did not look like the kind of enemy that could be defeated by a woman who, supple as her feminine features were, still filled half the space he did. Born with monstrous power, their true forms could wear the clouds as their crowns and use the mountains as their thrones, the Titans had been abominations of unimaginable power, and Crius in particular, known as the heavenly ram that chased the constellations forward and divided the untamed stream of wasting time into years, was known to be a violent yet majestic sight... he had lived a long time, and during its duration, he had single-handedly split mountains, swallowed lakes and carried islands, but this once, he had found that massive shape to be nothing but an easy target really unsuited to the purpose of fleeing, and little other than plump, dead weight prone to sinking into the muddy nothingness of earth softened by endless storms, and as his feet slipped off valleys and mountains refused to offer anything solid for his hands to hang on, he was left wondering if this was the underhanded revenge of their accursed parents, or already the power of the young prince and his brethren, and the way in which the very substance of the world was already beginning to recognize them as their masters, including, as it seemed, the very fibers of their opponent's bodies.

Chased by the blonde Olympian, the Titan of the South had shifted back to his everyday form, but when he wanted to turn back to escape the binds she still managed to put on him, he found that he no longer had the strength to maintain that form, and found himself collapsing before her feet, completely drained – He underestimated her, although he had already known that the two middle children had inherited Gaia's fearsome elemental powers, her fair face had looked so much like that of their gentle sister Rhea, and like her, young Demeter had not seemed to possess much in terms of strictly destructive power or intent, hers seeming to be an energy that nourished and created things, in a more ordered and directed ways than the whimsical primeval forces of the all-mother, with the distinctive abstract quality that seemed inherent in that new brand of powerful beings their brother had spawned... but oh, how wrong he had been.

He had not known how she could, when properly enraged, drain all life around her with the same ease that she could make it flourish, how she could make the ground burst open with thorns and weeds to restrain her enemies, how she would make the very ground he stood into the instrument of his ruin, and remind him how life and death always lay closely together, how light and darkness often sprang from the same source, and before soon, he found himself reminded of the few times he had dueled his brother Kronos to pass the time, and come to think of how he was, in certain ways, so much like their hated father in appearance and personality, yet so much like their mother in his dark powers and certain reaches of her darker traits... Who else to fight for her as her champion, who else to betray her as soon as she made him powerful? With her straight, golden hair that she wore in an elaborate hairstyle featuring a few thin braids, the merciless young goddess seemed like her father's antithesis, yet that same gold reminded the Titan of the grain that his brother had once cut down with his fabled scythe, to offer it to these short lived creations of Iapetus' family and share a giggle with his brothers when they saw those mortals crafting themselves little flint knives to imitate the Titan king's legendary weapon, listening as they taught them how to mark this date, and divide days from months, years from centuries and the present from the past – And indeed, the mortals never quite forgot, continuing the festival in his honor long past his reign when the date had long become stranded in the middle of the bitterest barren winter, a day of opposites and paradoxes where the masters served their slaves, strangers shared their feats with each other , and the people thought of their former benefactors down below in place of their current ones up above – Now, let no misconceptions abound, even Crius and his brothers would have had to lie if he were to deny that their youngest brother was an unrelenting monster that even they were terrified of at times, and he had rightfully earned each of his frightening epithets, but that didn't mean that he had no joy in his life, or that he was completely unskilled as a ruler. To his fellow titans, he was first and foremost the fearless, awe-inspiring existence who did what they could not when he led them out of the dark, but he was also their smart and playful little brother, when the situation allowed for it, and now, their opponents were so unmistakeably his children, and his decisions had become their doom, just like their sister Themis had announced it all those millennia ago... Of course, the blonde girl was nowhere near her father's power – at her current level, she was comparable to strength Kronos would fight at if he was deliberately going easy to prolong his amusement, but bar Okeanos, none of the Titan brothers had ever been a serious match for Kronos, even _when_ it was just a matter of friendly competition – One basic fact about Kronos: He really hated to lose.

So when Crius finally saw his niece descend on him one last time, he had already stopped resisting the thought that she was indeed mother Gaia's chosen heiress, and that their time was done.

It wouldn't be the first time that they saw her cast out a ruler from the heavens; She had done this before.

By the point he was thrown to the tangled messes that his defeated brothers had become, his dark hair sticky and tangled, his once lavish, flowing garments torn, the symbols painted upon his exposed chest in chalk-like war paint fading in the rain, the only words he could muster to put where overconfident taunts had once been, went among the lines of "Oh please, it's enough..." when it was more his dread than his pride that made him make some last, and feeble, and costly attempts to liberate himself from whatever poisonous thorns and wires she had bound him with.

"Oh, let it go. Don't struggle like this, it's unsightly."

The voice that ended up scolding him was the last he would have expected, although it spoke with overwhelmingly more bitter weariness than actual reproach: Coeus the Inquirer, titan god of Intelligence, the shadowy northern night sky and its constant axis of motion, one of the remaining brothers, and the only one among the five to make his way here on his own two legs, if with a noticeable limp, torn light blue, star-patterned robes and his wavy, chin-lenght hair of the same color in complete disarray, although his state was less a testament to his power than the inescapablility of a defeat so absolute, so undeniable, that he couldn't help but accept it despite himself before his opponents had the need to subject him to a thorough breaking.

While dignity was no longer possible after the had found himself gracelessly overwhelmed by unavoidable defeat, he was making some half-hearted attempt to walk out of this with the next best thing, dissolving war paint and all, as much as his captors would let him have it.

Unlike his brothers, Coeus had not been faced with one, but two challengers.

First of all, there was Kronos' youngest daughter, a fierce, proud girl whose dark eyes shone with ambition. Back in the day, she did not yet wear her long brown hair in an elaborate up-do because she did not yet have a crown to tuck it behind, but she was sure aiming for one, and while she had not accomplished her initial resolution to get the deed done without a single speck of dust coming on her elaborate, blue dress, it's battle-torn state and the way she had rolled its sleeves up her pale arms might just have been a much more appropriate description of her true nature than her peacock-feather earrings could ever have accomplished. Soaked as she was, her iron expression and haughty gait were still enough to summon up a regal, imposing aura around her.

Already having distinguished herself exquisitely through her previous deeds in the titan war, she aimed no lower than the throne of the heavens, she had personally picked out the ruler of the night skies to personally challenge him to prove her worthiness to the world, and perhaps the young prince with whom she infamously shared a somewhat hard to place, at times belligerent relationship that was, at the time, not quite a bond between brother and sister, but also not quite anything else that would have fit a concrete label.

The least complicated, most easily recognizable statement one could have made was that the young prince had gradually grown impressed with her skills as a natural leader seemed to value her strength and indomitable personality, although he didn't always made it quite as obvious as she wished he would or, more importantly, felt she deserved. But while young Hera was easily the most powerful of her sisters, the titan's skill of foresight had presented additional problems that had forced her into a rather unwelcome team-up if she still wished to be personally involved in his defeat with the person most suited to negotiating that particular ability: Of all possible people, it had to be Metis, goddess of cunning and wise counsel, a turncoat like Prometheus and his fellow Second-Generation titan, but most glaringly, the current consort of Zeus. Of course, regal, in-control Hera would never have admitted to jealousy being along her motivations, mostly citing distrust as an explanation, but to her sisters and closest confidantes, she might find herself admitting that she felt a sense of unfairness about it, that this stranger should have known their young leader before even his own siblings, before even Zelus, Kratos, Bia and Nike, that he'd dared to have a life apart from them that she could not step into.

But even if she had to do it with her teeth clenched, Hera was determined to win, she _needed_ to win,and so, had reluctantly agreed to work with their liberator's paramour, and of course, that clueless, ungrateful Zeus had to pass it off as her pride and remind her that he would not have succeeded to free them if not for Metis' help. As if that being true wasn't humiliating enough. Knowing her priorities, Hera had contented herself with channeling her anger into her battle and the rough, merciless way with which she dragged the defeated titan onwards even now, brusquely pulling at her prisoner's arm when he a bit to slow for her liking.

Of course, the girl that held his other wrist held no vitriol against her own kind, took no pleasure in what she'd done and had to throw Hera's own simmering feelings into her face by seeming almost mindful of their prisoner's condition without granting her the luxury of glimpsing anything that could have been constructed as outright betrayal. But their demeanor wasn't the only thing that marked a contrast between the two women; Where one was tall, hard-faced and completely dominated any place she set foot in, the other was a slight, girlish thing of rounded, rosy features, dressed in warm colors, not currently, but quite frequently adorned with a challenging smile, liable to drop allusions about things only she knew and understood, or show up right behind you when you least expected her, her mind, body and very essence as elusive as liquid water, or even thought itself. Her wavy, magenta hair perpetually gave the impression that she had only just climbed of the salty seas, while her large, light-gray eyes provided the obligatory pearls to the picture. She had not been nearly as grudging in her cooperation, although having the prudence not to provoke her unwilling ally might also have had something to do with it – in any case, they did share the intention to get the job done, and indeed, over the course of an intense and grueling battle, they changed his calm assurances that he would be able to foresee anything they decided to throw at him into disbelieving stupefaction when all paths of the future seemed to lead to the single outcome of his resounding defeat like it was the nadir of a vortex of space and time turning in on themselves, and he was the fool who had stepped over the event horizon. Just as they began to feel that victory was within their grasp at long last, he simply let go of whatever tree or rock he'd been supporting himself with, slumped to his knees with wide eyes, conceded defeat and allowed himself to be taken away. Rendering his limbs unusable simply hadn't been a necessary prerequisite to breaking him, not when he knew that it was only a matter of how long he would resist his knowledge that he was beaten before they took that choice out of his hands. Were he able to die easily, Coeus would have taken _that_ out of their hands, too – Choosing when to submit was the only freedom he had left any more.

Having ended up surrendering, however hadn't spared him a generous round of physical demolition, mostly distributed before his surrender, but even then, the peacock-princess wanted to make very, very sure that he wasn't going to pull any tricks, which, to be honest, he might have, if he'd caught sight of the slightest sliver of a chance.

That he had stayed afoot so far didn't mean he had done so more than just barely – most likely, he'd find himself kissing the mud soon enough, as soon as those two girls felt like discarding his battered body, and as he beheld the pitiful sight of his defeated brothers, it dawned on Coeus that this moment had come. So, one last choice left before his fate collapsed into an one-way street – famous last words. He could try outdoing his old father just once more, right?

"But just to be clear..." he said, raising his head to address the victorious younglings he'd gotten for successors "...you _know_ you brats will have to pay for your transgression every bit as much as we did, right? That goes for _you_, too, Prometheus."

"...not if we can help it." Metis replied, not so much as a snotty retort than a a calm, certain statement penned with a light and open voice. "I don't think Zeus and the others will have anything to fear as long as they have _loyal_ and _knowledgeable_ allies." she stated, making a wide gesture with her arms to include Prometheus, Nike and the others in their circle, up to the Hekatoncheires that observed from behind them.

"Oh, sure, you might be able to find a way to avert it..." the beaten titan replied, affixing his gaze to Metis' face as a faint prophetic glow stirred behind his icy blue eyes, not quite what he'd habitually summoned up before, but more menacing than anything that could be safely termed a 'weak afterglow'. "...but what makes you think that that _remedy... _won't _cost_ you?"

"Oh, shut up!" Prometheus interjected, but his uncle was hardly deterred:

"I see a girl, you know, a bright-eyed, powerful girl that cannot be contained by anyone... Unlike us, or even you lot, she won't need to help from _mommy_ to break out of-"

And just then, princess Hera, not yet tempered by Okeanos' future attempts to make up for her lack of upbringing, did something distinctly _un_princesslike and heartily punched the titan of the north straight in the face. "Will you shut up already!"

"Ah, I see." he answered calmly, paying little mind to the newly drawn trickle of ichor 'adorning' his nose. "So that pair of belligerent ones must be _your_ offspring."

That comment got him thrown to his brothers.

"Sweet mother Gaia!" Hera snapped. "You'd think he _wants_ us to break his jaw!"

"Ehm... you know that was prophecy just now?" Metis reminded her, somewhat unsure what to make of the situation, or mostly Hera's flippancy in the face of it.

"So what?" the dark-eyed pincess retorted. "We can deal with the future when we get there."

"I like your attitude." Prometheus finally commented, which pretty much concluded the topic.

With Atlas in binds, the elder Titans soundly beaten, and the Olympians and their allies no longer even afraid to behold the brothers' humiliated, fallen forms, the change in the world order seemed all but completed... of course, that left little of a future or a place for Atlas, who, by now, faced the spectacle with more angry disbelief than anything else.

He could guess at the consequences of what he'd just witnessed; Beings older and more powerful than him had fallen before his very eyes, and there was nothing _he_ could do about it if he couldn't even beat his turncoat brother, whose confidence had not exactly faded... it struck Atlas that his brother technically had all the reasons to boast and rejoice, so far, it really looked as if he'd picked the right side to fight for, or, at least, foreseen the correct outcome and prioritized saving his own hide, or being there to ensure the continued welfare of his little clay playthings. But what place would such a new world order leave for Atlas himself? He could guess, and didn't like his guesses one bit. Oh no, he refused to accept these supposed consequences, he'd rather reject this reality and substitute his own, as long as there was still the slightest silver of light, the tiniest crescent of a possibility to cling to: "You brats!" He spat, the dissonance of denial contorting his wild face, like he was trying to keep the madness of defeat from breaking out and spilling forth. "You presumptuous brats! Alright, you're good, I grant you that, you're _powerful_, more so than me for sure, you got _very _far, but there's one thing you've forgotten, one crucial thing, one deed that you haven't pulled off yet, and never will... I guess this was to be expected, you lot being powerful, since you're Lord Kronos' brats, but you forgot about him, and when he gets here, you're all due for a good spanking, you punks are gonna get _disciplined_, like rebellious kids deserve-"

There was no need to silence him, for he stopped all by himself, when he was interrupted not so much by its sound, but by an event that, by its very nature, drew all attention to itself by its own authority – ignoring it might not have been physically impossible, but its sheer possibility, the very fact that it _was_ taking place, was as good as denying that permission.

The conspicuous explosion from a direction all involved would have recognized as where the castle of mount Othrys would have been wasn't even the main event, just something that registered to all of them on the side, despite the spectacular way it went up in not even flames, but white hot electric sparks of energy in one of its purest, most efficient forms, or the column of light that reached up to its heaven and disintegrated its walls and structures into nothingness as it expanded, for the same thunder resounded all around them, violently shaking the cloud layers and even the firmament beyond, spreading from above the now ruined castle all across the dome of the canopy, making the celestial realms quake and roar in a cacophony that lay somewhere between the birth pangs of something gargantuan, and a hymn to accompany the ceremony of a coronation, and right then, after one last, huge flareup, the dark, gray covering dissipated,not even all at once, but starting in small circles of light breaking through, spreading out from too many places to count, until the whole layer was eaten up with holes and revealed, for the first time in almost ten years, the light azure beyond, leaving only the sweet scent of a summer tempest as a reminder, and an announcement of victory, subtler than the fanfare of a trumpet horn, but no less majestic. The lightning-radiance of white-hot, bluish high-energy glow, however, did not fade with the clouds, but descended in the patterns of a helix after gathering into one place, one single, concentrated beam searing down at the earth, the boundless, endless power of the celestial light focused on one, tiny spot in the circle of the victors, the now empty tidbit of space between Metis and Hera, who, already knowing what to expect, remained in their places with thoughtful expressions even as the storm wind whipped their hair and dresses.

The titans, it turned out, weren't the only ones who could flaunt the true forms – Some of the onlookers might find the display somewhat show off-ish, although Hera, despite sharing that perception, kept a thin smile as she saw Metis take a few steps back in her supposed constant prudence – she herself, of course, had no need to move back to withstand the storm that was coming, since she was the same kind of being as he was. The titans might be colossal beings alright, but _their_ true forms were flat out unsurvivable, and that was doubly true for the foremost among them – He descended in a globe of lightning, electric blue sparks swarming as he reached the ground, violently, yet gently, with a blinding dance of radiance, but no actual shaking of the ground, this lethal, searing energy skillfully confined to a small patch of space and time, like his skin was not so much a barrier you needed to pierce to gain entrance into the sources of his life, but a means to hold back endless power that would confer complete obliteration upon those foolish enough to release it, like the very light could sear you to ashes just from looking into it for too long. And in this majestic twister of dancing lightning, the light seemed to solidify and crystallize, slowing down to fill out his ghostly outline of will alone with flesh and with sinew, compressing further yet like the unreal heaviness of a pulsating dwarf star, into slender limbs and flawless forms, with robes and ornaments materializing out of the jagged torrents of light almost as an afterthought, rings of gold, silver and crystal, decorated seams on flowing, white-and-blue garments, and at last, a garland of laurel adorning the crown of his head when the last of the merciless light dissipated into lone electric sparks.

The result was not so much disappointing, as that its difference to what one might have expected put the awe he evoked into far more of a perspective, eliciting even more respect in the process: All of this spectacle came from an adolescent boy, barely on the edge of manhood, his sleek, lanky body barely filling his shining attire. There could not be a single glance at him without the realization that he was a _chosen_ existence, his oppressing aura of power merely a dim preview of what he might become once his body matured and his abilities were fully mastered, his hair marked him, curls flowing down his neck without quite reaching his shoulders, pure white despite his youth, except for perhaps the faintest tinge of whatever colored the azure canopy behind him.

For a moment, those among the elder titans who still had the strength to look up were struck with a sudden, inevitable bout of deja-vu, recalling another boy standing triumphant in an all-too-similar way, licking off blood from an enormous scythe twice his size, but the flashback to their glory days did not last long, for it had been another boy, another time far away and that very scythe was on the floor before the shining new king, complete with the other thing he had materialized along with him, for the only purpose to send it flying with a potent kick so his allies and supporters could have a look: There was a bundle of black and red, loose necklace-beads forming a trail behind their owner's torn robes, a grunt or moan of pain following every turn he took to where his brothers lay, blood stains in very ironic places, and even clawing his long fingers into the ground to get some foothold being more than his broken body could currently do without every overexerted fiber protesting in pain, even as he kept fighting the weakness that had long taken over his body, black curls tangled and bloodied, red eyes glistening with tears for the first time in his existence, from nothing but sheer pain and indignation at the fate set before him – There lay Kronos, once the single, absolute monarch of the universe, reduced to impotent rage, stubbornly screaming at the perceived unfairness of the world like a scolded toddler in the middle of a tantrum. He hit the ground with his fists, and instead of denting it, only managed to make himself wince from the pain in his battered arms and hands; He didn't even want to _try_ to move anything in his lower body, so he insisted in clawing his way up, fighting down sobs and the most undignified sounds all the way, straining and struggling with gritted teeth as every breath reminded him of his hopelessly broken state that he still refused to accept – and even in this pitiful state, his sheer voice, rage and intensity was enough to make even the most stoic and most proud in the surrounding circle flinch or even recoil, between all that he stood for in their lives and the inherent qualities of his wild, flaring madness and refusal to just sink into an orderly pile.

His older brothers and fellow titans were not completely without that very same fear or respect, although their eyes displayed it in varying degrees of mixture with a strange, yet deep, distant sadness.

Even Hera or Hades could not avoid a grimace as they beheld the source of their life; Only Zeus remained firmly in his place, arms crossed in front of his chest, eyes glaring down, his firm and regal demeanor constant as the change of night and day, refusing to back down.

"Kronos the wily, Kronos the crafty, great Kronos the terrible... you're a rather _pathetic _sight, crawling like a worm..." he spoke, his voice between distant haughtiness and emotionless nonchalance despite its high, young softness.

At that, the elder dispensed with any words he could have squeezed out of his filthy contorted face, and instead pushed himself forward with a sudden jolt to defiantly grab hold of the boy's ankles with one thin, yet overall large, spidery hand.

Its advance was, of course, stopped by one consequently applied stomp of a youthful foot generously cracking the finger-bones underneath without a hint of change in his cold, boyish face.

The elder cried out, all the forced tension in his body reduced to unsightly hanging as he winced and curled in pain, the afterglow of earlier lightning strikes showing itself again. He eventually regained his bearings and supported himself somewhat with his other elbow, but a certain whimper did not completely fade, his earlier defiance, once shattered, only haphazardly put together like a crumpled piece of paper that could not quite be straightened out again.

"Oh just give up." the victorious prince said, putting on the guise of mild annoyance. "You know you have lost. You and the other Titans have over-strained the boundaries of the power you were meant to have a long time ago. It's over now. You've had your turn. Your time is done."

Kronos could no longer manage a hostile growl, so he contended himself with a fierce, defiant glare. He would never give up, he would never have anyone else have the throne, he could _never_...

Even when he felt that each strike he landed on that kid would be returned to him with magnified force, even when all he could measure of that kid's power was that it was beyond measuring, even when he found himself wondering how such a _monster_ could even exist in this world, he absolutely refused to give up. _No way_. There was _no way_, not a single way between the deepest pits of Tartarus and the uppermost region of Aither that he would let himself be replaced just as Gaia wished it, by one of her other so-called designated champions, _no way_...

But even so, he struggled to believe it, that this _thing_, this mass of seemingly unlimited power barely constrained in the form of a boy could have come from his own body, and Rhea's, too, that he'd let himself be fooled like that, and so much more he didn't want to contemplate and aggressively squeezed away from his thoughts because to ponder it would have been to concede defeat, to admit failure and look to paths not taken.

Not all that far from breaking down in aimless frustration, the fallen pushed his body forward in any way he could, as if he wanted to eat of the dust on the ground, filthy curls sticking to his face like some ugly stain of black ink. If he could only get a hold of his scythe, if he could only get that little bit further, he'd separate that kid's head from his shoulders and make him wish he could die, and the others, too, just... just a little bit...

"You know," Zeus spoke, not giving his fallen opponent's slow, unsteady crawl much importance. "I'll still have to think of something utile and creative to do with Atlas, but as far as you and the others are concerned, I've decided long ago... I'm sure Poseidon and the others will appreciate it. He's prepared a nice gate for you to be sealed behind, and we even had volunteers proposing to guard you. For _some_ reason, Kottos and Gyges were rather eager to take the post..."

"_They_, guard _us_?" Kronos asked, for a moment regaining a little of his usual, audacious manners, a pain-tinged imitation of his challenging smirk. "You're actually going to let them out? That's gonna be your downfall, _sonny._ Briareus was always mother Gaia's favorite, you know? Whenever she isn't trying to convince someone else to do her dirty work."

This, however, did not shake Zeus's princely calm, instead, he smiled, in the manner of a child playing, ripping the wings of an insect.

"I am not like you."

He was not perturbed or frightened, or even forced into some defensive gesture. Instead, the shining heir of the heavens was perfectly calm, nothing else in his posture or expression betraying that he was taking his sweet time to shift his weight in various directions a few times, to different parts of the foot that was currently placed on Kronos' fingers; The fallen god's gritted teeth were not going to tell anyone either.

"I'm not so insecure that I need to break my vows because I'm afraid that my streght is not enough. Unlike _you_, I plan to share this world with my brothers and sisters who helped me conquer it, instead of taking it all for myself." he announced, gesturing to the expance of the canopy with a wide-armed motion. "You know what? We'll even draw lots. And-" at this, he raised his head to look beyond his fallen progenitor, to address the other titans. "You don't have to worry for your wives, sisters and children either, they shall be spared. Only the guilty will be punished. You see, I hate oath-breakers more than _anything_."

That, he punctuated with a further stomp on the defeated sovereign's hand.

"But you know what?" he inserted, just as the older man had successfully pulled his face right before his offspring's feet, wasting no effort in wrenching his hand free and instead extending his other arm to grab his famed weapon, as much as the much-electrocuted muscles would even obey him anymore. The younger, neither impressed not much threatened by the spectacle, fearlessly bent down into a crouch, extending on unblemished, childlike hand to the titan.

"I might even be willing to grant you lot clemency if you do just one thing for me."

"Oh really?"

"_Beg._" Zeus stated, coldly. "Throw your useless hubris away, and beg forgiveness. Not from me. From Briareus. From Kottos, Gyges and the others you betrayed. From my brothers and sisters, and from mother. Beg, beg right now, I want to see you pleading to remain in the light of the day. If they say it's alright, you may go."

Enragend beyond words, Kronos made his answer quite clear: By snapping forward with the last of his strength and sinking his teeth into his youngest son's outstretched palm.

Of course, he didn't as much as made a sound and needed less than an instant to get rid of the older man's feeble, if bold attack, distantly eying the faint mark on his hand as he stood up again, and rewarded its cause with a surprisingly sudden, unrestrained brutal kick to the face, sending him all the way down to the pit to where some of his less incapacitated brothers – Hyperion and Coeus – caught his fall, although Kronos rebuffed even them, refusing to accept his own defeat to the last, this being the last action he completed before even the sheer force of will that had driven him forward until now reached its end, and he just sank down raging at his loss and humiliation, putting up some weak imitation of kicking an screaming.

"Couldn't resist, could you?" Zeus remarked coldly, wiping away specks of gold from his hand where the skin had already closed. "Very well, have it your way."

And so, the titans ended how they began, huddled together in the darkness of the earth, like some litter of newborn rodents hidden away in their burrow, and as their self-appointed judge began to extend his arms, and they felt the ground around them give way, the brothers experienced a very different deja-vu, one that had, although they would never admit it at the time, given them the chills the very first time they saw the boy, when they first saw his _powers_, when they saw him right now, the wind blowing through his blueish white hair, making it harder to distinguish from the slightly longer, straighter strands of another man, with the same, disdainful scowl and those very same eyes, and they were blue, _sky blue_, just as the endless canopy behind him, as the light they would never see again, and past and present spoke in unison:

"You are so _unsightly..._"

_("-so unsightly, Gaia, why don't you just stuff them back wherever-just make them-")_

"_-Vanish from my sight."_

And the darkness swallowed them up once again.


End file.
